The Fall of Morgarath
by TheSpiritDancer
Summary: When Will takes a shot that will change Arulens fate forever, he finds himself on the run from an army of bloodthirsty wargals. When Halt finds out, he is torn with worry. When Horace finds out, he sets out to find the young ranger, desperate with guilt. {During The Burning Bridge, just after Evanlyn and Will burn the bridge. AU. T for violence.}
1. Chapter 1

_Erak turned swiftly to the two of them, gesturing them back into the cover of the rocks behind their campsite. "Quick you two! That's Morgarath himself on the white horse! Nordel, Horak, move into the light to screen them!"_

Will felt his breath catch in his throat. _Morgarath…_ He was shaking with fear, but he steered himself so that Evanlyn was behind him, shielded from harm. Staying low, the two scrambled to the safety of the rocks, behind the two burly Skandians, pressing themselves low into the dusty ground.

The jingle of harnesses came closer, along with the chink of weapons and hooves, almost muffled by the chant of the bloodthirsty wargals. Will slowly removed his cloak, steadily wrapping it around Evanlyns shoulders as a plan formed. It was the stupidest idea he had ever had, but also the bravest, the idea which might save so many lives.

He looked Evanlyn in the eye as the clopping of hooves came closer. "Run." He told her. "Run like _hell_, you'll know when." Her bright emerald eyes widened in fear, but he tried to give her a re-assuring smile as he scanned the campsite.

A horse came to a stop in front of the crew of the wolfship. It was white, but not a pearly white, glossy coated battle horse, such as a gallant knight might ride, but a pale horse ,without sheen or life to it. It's fur was dead white and its eyes were wild and rolling. He couldn't see much of the rider from his vantage point, only a set of legs and a glove, clad in jet black armour that glinted dangerously in the half-light from the fire.

"We thought we'd join your forces at Three Step Pass, my lord," Erak was saying. "I assume you will _still_ go on with your attack, even though the bridge is down."

Morgarath swore horribly at the mention of the bridge. Sensing his fury, Will felt a swell of satisfaction, but he tuned out the conversation.

The bow was on the other side of the fireplace, next to a quiver of a few arrows. Most were splintered, but there were a few that were usable, not that it mattered. He would only get one chance at it anyway. The Skandians, in all their hurry to hide the two hostages from Morgarath, had left it unguarded.

He scrambled into a crouch and tensed his legs to run. He stole one last glance at Evanlyn beside him, and saw her expression change from confusion to horror as she realised his plan. He gave a weak smile and gripped her arm firmly. "Ready to run?" He whispered, and she gave a determined nod, the ranger cloak blurring her outline. Will felt strange not wearing it.

There was a lull in the conversation and Will took the opportunity. With an almighty shove of Evanlyn in the opposite direction, he leapt out from his cover, his hand closing around the throat of the bow and whipping an arrow from the quiver. There was a shout, and time seemed to crawl to a halt.

He closed his fingers around the calloused grain of the bow, and drew back his hand, the fletching of the arrow tickling his cheek. He had no armguard, but this was a one time shot.

He calmed his breathing, spinning from his crouch to a standing position. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evanlyn running out of sight, unnoticed by the Skandians and wargals barreling towards the rangers apprentice.

With an echoing twang, he released the arrow, and there was a thud. The whole army seemed to stop.

Morgarath, lord of the mountains of rain and night, toppled from his horse, an arrow protruding through his neck.

It was a truly blessed shot. It had caught him in the tiny chink in his armour, where the chin and the neck meet, spearing his windpipe and killing him instantly as it entered the brain.

Will dropped the bow as the Skandians turned to look at him, complete shock registering on their rugged faces. The young apprentice stood calmly, accepting his fate.

There was an almighty roar as the wargals, spurred into a bloodlust by the death of their leader, rushed up the hill in one murderous swarm, their piggy red eyes fixed on Will No-Name.


	2. Chapter 2

Will ran.

His feet pounded the ground in an even rhythm, sending him flying across the ground like a rocket. He always had been a fast runner, and now, with the threat of death on his heels and a year of rigorous ranger training making him more fit than he ever had been, he was the wind.

Behind him, the wargals bayed like hounds, closing the distance between him and them with an odd, four-legged gait. He poured on the speed.

He had nothing but his knives to defend himself. The bow was arrowless, and he had left it behind in the mad scramble to get away. He would have been defenceless if Erak hadn't pressed his weapons into his hands with a look of admiration, before moving out of the army's way.

His only hope was to lose them, trick them into dropping his trail. He had a faint knowledge of geography, and as he ran, he scanned the land for something, _anything,_ that could help him. Then something flashed into his head.

A balmy summers evening, sitting outside the cabin with Halt. Learning about… The Thorntree cliffs. They couldn't be more than an hours run away, at full speed.

That was if the wargals didnt rip him to pieces first.

* * *

A/U I had a different idea for this chapter at first, but then I got a really great anonymous comment with this idea, and I decided to use it! So kudos to my first reader!

* * *

It was late afternoon, and the sun was low in the blue sky. Clouds gently scudded across, blown by a gentle breeze, which blew on the walls of the main command tent, in the centre of the army of Araluen.

King Duncan sat at the head of the table, looking remarkably composed for someone who had just had his daughter dead, then alive, then captured at the hands of bloodthirsty pirates. At his side, Halt and Gilian were watching the meeting coolly, calmly observing the debate between the battle leaders, Sir Rodney and Battlemaster David. Horace sat next to Rodney, who had insisted he come along, wide eyed and watchful. David was busy discussing the benefits of attacking from the right flank, while Rodney argued that a direct attack from behind would do more damage. Both men had a convincing argument, and Duncan listened intently.

"We will send a smaller force to attack both, and sandwich them between our forces." Said the king, with some finality, and both men sat back, studying the maps in front of them with great detail. They were about to discuss the point further, but there was a bugle from the tent entrance, and a scout, clad in the white and red that marked him out as one of the royal elite, ducked in. He kneeled before the king, who gestured for him to rise.

"Sir." The scout bowed his head respectfully. He was out of breath and both rangers immediately analysed that he had been running, or riding, hard to deliver the message. "A girl arrived, and has been sent to the infirmary. She delivers news of Morgaraths death."

Halt and Gilian exchanged a look. With Morgarath supposedly dead, the displacement of the wargal army was going to generate a lot of paperwork, and that would fall onto the shoulders of the Ranger Corps. Rodney and David exchanged glances, grinning like children. Battles were long, hard and bloody, and the honour that came from winning was usually far outweighed by the casualties.

King Duncan stood up. He laid his hand on the mans shoulder.

"You have done well. May I ask, what was the name of the man who killed Morgarath?" The scout shook his head.

"Not a man, she says, a boy." Both rangers sat up. A girl and a boy, who would had been in close proximity to Morgarath… It couldn't be…? "Will, she says his name was." Halt stood up, and King Duncan gestured to him to go. They had both discussed his apprentice, and his dissapearance. It began to dawn on the king. Will had been travelling with Cassie…

"And the girl, what did she look like?" The king was practically jumping with joy, but he mainained a respectable demeanour. He straightened his tunic.

The scout seemed surprised by the question. "Um.. Blonde my lord. Yes, short blonde hair, quite small…" He trailed off as the king gave him a nod and nearly ran out of the tent, leaving the fabric opening flapping behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; I find Halt very hard to write, but I hope he wasn't too OC for you guys :) Please make sure to tell me if he starts annoying you.)**

Cassandra was in the infirmary, like the scout had said she had been. Her hair was rumpled and messy, and her fingers sported light burns from when she and Will had burnt the bridge. She was still wearing Wills cloak, the mottled fabric slightly too big for her slight frame.

King Duncan burst in and she smiled. "Cassie?" His voice was wavering, but Halt had arrived before him and the older man waved the king over to the faintly smiling girl. "Dad!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

He enveloped her in a hug, and she burst into tears. He squeezed her shoulders as Gilian walked in. "What's wrong Cassie?" He asked gently.

"We..we were captured by the Skandians…" He gave a sympathetic smile, smoothing her hair.

"It's okay, Cassie, you're safe now." His words soothed her visibly, and she gulped, composing herself. Halt waved his hand in a gesture to continue, impatient to know what happened. Gilian pulled up a chair, also worried. "Erak.. Starfollower I think. They… They took our weapons… After Will destroyed the bridge…" Both rangers felt a swell of pride at the apprentice. "He.. he was willing to be captured… to stop the army… and he got hit on the head and… And we were with them.. When Morgarath came to talk to Erak." Halt felt his heart rise into his throat. Will couldn't be… He gulped his panic down as the girl carried on, resuming a cool air of indifference.

"We hid, but they left Wills bow on the ground with a few arrows…" Gilian gave Halt a worried look, and he ,in turn, returned the glance to his former apprentice. Neither knew where this was leading. "And… And… He gave me his cloak.. Told me to run…" She began to cry again, and Duncan rubbed circles on her back until she calmed down enough to continue. "He grabbed his bow, and I heard him take the shot… So I ran… And I looked back… And Morgarath was dead."

Duncan smiled, relieved, but both rangers looked worried. Halt steepled his fingers and leaned closer. "And Will?" He prompted gruffly, peering intently at the young blonde.

She gulped and began to cry, burying herself in her fathers arms. Halt felt his sense of dread grow. "Cassandra," He barked, rather too forcefully."What happened to Will?"

She sobbed openly. "The wargals…they chased him… I didn't see, but…" She broke down, and Duncan muttered a few soothing words of encouragement. There were tears running down Gilians cheeks, but he silently wiped them away, his usually cheerful demeanour gone.

"Sssh its okay.." The king mumbled, but it wasn't okay. Halt felt a cloud of guilt settle over him. He berated himself. _What if he never knew I cared? What if I didn't show enough praise, and he thought he didn't please me? What if I was too hard on him? What if…?_The regrets flooded into his mind. He steeled himself. Moping would do no-one any good.

It wasnt okay. Will was dead.

* * *

He could feel the hot breath of the wargals on his back. His heart pounded in his chest and his feet thumped on the ground. He could see the edge, which dropped off into the flat marshlands.

Will was a dead man. He had been planning to loop back, confuse the wargals into thinking he had gone off the cliff, but now, that was impossible. They had enclosed him in a circle, and the only way was forward.

He skidded to a halt when he reached the ledge. A few chalky pebbles were sent flying into the drop, and he couldn't help but sneak a look. His head spun with vertigo.

The wind was strong on the rocky plateau, and Will swayed as he drew his saxe knife. A wargal lunged at him and he stabbed it just underneath the ribcage, heaving it aside, but it was too late. The rest of the wargals had made their way out onto the cliff, and they crowed their victory, howling and barking.

He remembered talking with Gilian; it seemed so long ago. What would you do, trapped on a cliff, bow broken, with an angry axeman coming at you?

_Jump off the cliff. It'll be less messy that way._

It wasn't quite an axeman coming at him, but Will supposed the principle was sound. He took one last glance at the dizzying drop. He didn't fancy being ripped to pieces, but then again, he'd rather not be smashed to bits. He weighed the saxe knife in his hand, scuffing his toe in the soft, chalky ground.

He took a deep breath, and as the first row of wargals charged at him, he leapt off of the cliff.

His heart seemed to stop for a second and he hung, suspended for a moment, before plummeting at a frightening speed to the ground.

The wind rushed around him as he fell, and time seemed to slow. His saxe knife felt heavy in his hand, and his rough sheepskin vest billowed around him. He was too scared to scream, and he curled his fingers tightly around the hilt of the blade, his knuckles turning white.

His hair flew in his face, and he gulped, feeling his stomach rise as he fell uncontrollably. He tried to spread-eagle himself to fall slower, and he drifted towards the cliff itself, the sheer face slanting across his vision. His head spun, and his eyes stung with the wind.

There wasn't much power behind the blow, but Will struck his saxe knife into the soft chalk, and his weight drove it home. He continued falling for a second, but then he was yanked to a halt abruptly. His fingers began to slip, and he tightened them, holding on to his last chance of life.

He felt like his arms were being pulled out of their sockets and he yelled in pain, and relief. The wind still plucked at him, threatening to send him falling again, but for now, he was safe.

Will scrabbled with his foot for a ledge, and found one, a thin outcrop, just large enough to stand on. He yanked his knife out of the rock and clung there, shivering uncontrollably. He had one goal now. To _survive._

He could've been there for hours, but it only felt like a few minutes. Small spatters of rain began to fall, soaking him through as it intensified into a torrent and flung itself at the cliff face, chilling him to the bone. His hair hung in dripping clumps and his clothes clung to his small frame. He almost lost his grip on the rocks a few times, but each time he would lunge for them, grabbing any handhold he could find.

His breath was shaky and he drew his second knife, weighing it in his hand. He lodged it into the chalk experimentally, and found it stuck well. He shuffled over to it, testing his weight on it, before wedging his saxe knife into a crack slightly lower than the first. He swung himself under them, pulling the first knife free, and driving it lower.

He began to make progress, slowly dragging himself down the cliff.

There was a burning pain in the muscles of his back, and it was with some relief that he dropped to the soft, swampy ground. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed, welcoming the darkness that sleep would bring.

He sighed, and the world dissolved into blackness.


	4. Chapter 4

Will awoke, a full day later, to blinding light.

The beams of sun stabbed through his eyelids, and he groaned, sitting up. His head felt like someone was pounding on it with a hammer, and he blinked, trying to get rid of the spots that danced in the corners of his vision.

He stumbled, trying to stand up, and managed to heave himself upright using the cliff face for support. His head spun, and he nearly keeled over, but his bloodied fingers scrabbled at the powdery chalk, and he managed to stay standing up. He shook his head, trying to get his throbbing head to focus, and managed to take in his surroundings.

The marsh was wide, and flat. Small hillocks of grass rose from the stagnant water, and there was a distinct whiff of salt in the air, carried by a rushing wind from the sea.

Everything was grey, the water, the lifeless grass, the sinking, sucking mud that pulled at his boots and threatened to immobilise him. He rubbed his eyes, breaking away the light crust of salt and dirt that had formed overnight. His eyes began to water, and he coughed, doubling over.

He realised that he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. It could've been a few days since his flight from the wargals, or it could've been only one. He hoped that Evanlyn was safe. He didn't think he could bear it if she wasn't.

Slowly, using the sheer cliff face as a support, he hauled himself upright, taking a tentative step. The ground held under him and he transferred his weight, swaying slightly under a wave of nausea. He steadied himself and took another step, feeling a jolt of fear as his foot began to sink.

He pulled it out with a _shlop_ and took a moment to regain his nerves, before slowly and haphazardly beginning to make his way across the treacherous marsh, towards the flicker of light from a settlement, far in the distance.

* * *

In reality, it had been three days since Will had passed out at the foot of the cliff. In that time, most of the kingdom had settled back into a state of somewhat edgy normality, and the army of the king had dispersed.

The king himself, was lodging in Redmont castle.

"Cassie, I've told you a million times! It is _imperative_ that you come with me to appear to the troops!"

King Duncan paced the room angrily, his well-shined boots clacking on the hard flagstone floor of his suite. His daughter, Cassandra, sat neatly in an armchair, watching.

She had been fussed over by servants and her father for the last week, and frankly, she just wanted to be alone. She wanted some time to sit and cry. She wanted to find a tree and sit there for an hour or two, and just to_think._

Less than a week ago, she had been kidnapped by Skandians, destroyed Morgaraths Bridge, and watched her friend- to whom she owed her life- run to certain death, facing a horde of bloodthirsty wargals. And now, her father demanded that she come with him to the town of Carafell, near Thorntree, to address a group of soldiers who had been instrumental in organising the war effort.

"Come on Cassie, seeing you there will be a huge morale boost for a lot of them. They've just returned home from camping out in the mud and rain and cold for nothing- they need a point to rally around and continue with their normal lives, assured that their princess is safe!"

The King pleaded with his daughter, and he could tell she was close to swaying. She opened her mouth to speak but he seized his advantage.

"Most of the kingdom don't know that you're safe yet, the news hasn't spread. Please, it's what Will would want."

The second the words left his mouth, the King knew he had scored the winning point. His daughter bowed her head, biting her lip.

"Yes Dad." She croaked, and he settled an arm around her shoulder.

And that was the end of that.

* * *

As Halt saddled Abelard, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

It was an almost constant emotion for him now. He could imagine Will, bursting with excitement and curiosity, rambling out questions a dozen a minute. Of course, he would be dying to go, saddled and seated on Tug already, and the shaggy horse would look at him balefully, as if agreeing with his young masters sentiment. Now, however, Tug was only saddled as an accompanying pony, riderless. Halt hadn't the heart to leave him behind.

Halt felt what seemed like a hole in his chest every time he thought about his apprentice, but on the outside, he remained as steeled and unemotional as ever, keeping his emotions in check.

It was again King Duncan who had decided it would do him good to accompany the royal party to Carafell, and he had reluctantly agreed. He didn't have the heart to argue with the king, so he withdrew into himself, shutting off the outside world. Abelard gave him a sympathetic look.

_Lets get moving, take your mind off things._

There was no doubt in the Rangers mind that the little horse understood what he was saying, so he ruffled his mane thankfully.

"You're right Abelard. Lets get moving."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/U: Sorry about this! I know the chapter is short, a bit of a filler and a fair bit OOC, but I needed to put it in :D To make up for this fact, I will be posting the next chapter today or tomorrow for you guys! **

**Thank you all for the amazing support for this story!**

With immense effort, Will stumbled into the large town without collapsing. It was a strange sight for the residents- a young boy, dripping with the white-grey marsh mud, eyes half closed with fatigue, gripping a large heavy knife in one hand. Then again, he was dressed in the clothes of a ranger, and everyone knew rangers were a strange breed after all.

Will swayed as he stood, shakily at the side of the road. A horse drawn carriage clip-flopped past, but he ignored it, slowly making his way down the road. He cast his eyes wistfully at a barrow selling apples, but the owner shot him a dark look, and he moved on to one of the small alleys that branched off from the main road like so many roots on a tree.

He slipped quietly down the small path, hearing the uneven gushing of a rainwater pipe on the roof of one of the adjoining buildings. His eyes settled on the stream of falling water and Will ducked under it, relishing the feeling of the cool water sluicing the mud from his clothes.

He stepped out, pulling his cloak out and wringing most of the water from it, before donning it again and filling his hands with the cold liquid. He drank deeply, and with a sigh of relief, settled himself on a small step that marked the back door of one of the shops.

He could've stayed there for hours if not for the man. When asked, he would not have been able to note what drew his eye to the stranger. Maybe it was his purple cloak, and wide purple feather brimmed hat, or maybe it was the wicked looking crossbow that glinted at his belt. Either way, Will's eyes flashed towards him.

It could've been something in the mans stride, or his demeanour, but Will caught an unmistakeable air of malice. Something bad was happening, but Will didn't know what.

It was with this in mind, that the young ranger slipped up quietly to follow the man.

* * *

Halt and Abelard were travelling parallel to the royal escort, about two hundred metres to the side, sweeping for bandits in the Thorntree woods. It was a repetitive task, but it did the job of distracting the ranger from his apprentice.

That was, until Abelard slipped on the strangely churned up mud, marked with the imprints of hundreds of claws.

Halt stopped dead, and dropped lightly from the saddle. Without a word, he followed the path of destroyed undergrowth, his shaggy horse loyally following by his side. His heart constricted as he spotted a set of small, light human footprints amongst the mess, and his purposeful stride broke into a run.

He payed no attention to the tracks, just paying attention to the general carnage. Broken trees lay snapped across the path, and he vaulted over them, ducking under low hanging branches and ignoring the bristles that tore at his cloak.

With a clatter of pebbles, Halt skidded to a stop at the top of the plateau. Here, the tracks were fainter and eroded by the constant gushing wind, but he slowly made his way over to the very edge of the cliff where the gusts threatened to pluck him into the sky.

There was a buzzing of flies around a wargal carcass, a huge mass of fur and muscle which sent out a strong odour of decay and death, but there was no sign of his apprentice.

The small spark of hope that Halt had held in his heart, quietly harbouring the thought that maybe, somewhere, his apprentice _might_ be alive, flickered and died. A great well of sadness poured through him, and he let out a choked sob.

With no care for who might see him, Halt dropped to his knees and silently cried.

* * *

Every man dies. Not every man really lives – William Ross Wallace.


End file.
